


The 79's Beat

by hrtiu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Coruscant Guard, Drug trafficking, F/M, Gen, I worked really hard to make this OC not suck I promise, Refugees, Strangers to Lovers, The waitress and the (sort of) cop, action! adventure! suspense!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrtiu/pseuds/hrtiu
Summary: Reese is the clone trooper with the dubious honor of being assigned to deal with all disciplinary issues related to the clone bar 79's. Kiraz is a refugee-turned-waitress at that very same bar, just trying to keep her head down and her family together. As much as Kiraz would rather limit her interactions with the Coruscant Guard, they just keep running into each other.
Relationships: Original Clone Trooper Character(s) & Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 34
Kudos: 37





	1. Of All the Gin Joints

**Author's Note:**

> I have two WIPS and a complete novel in need of editing, but I also have a four month old who consumes literally all of my time so I've decided to just write what I want when I want. Hence this story! I hope you enjoy it. I've got a rough outline ready and I think it will probably be six to ten chapters.
> 
> Also I've seen other people use the term "Corrie" but can't figure out if it's canon or not. Regardless, I liked it so I hope nobody minds me using it. Enjoy!

Reese’s piping hot cup of caf was halfway to his lips when he got the comm.

“CT-8659, got a call from 79's about some drunk and disorderly conduct.”

“Karking hell,” Reese muttered under his breath as he nearly spilled his caf. He glanced sideways at Watt, hoping the shiny trooper wouldn’t hold his near slipup against him. Members of the Coruscant Guard weren’t supposed to get startled by simple things like an unexpected comm.

“Copy that. On my way,” Reese said into his comm.

He jerked his head towards their patrol speeders, indicating for Watt to join him, then took a quick sip of his caf before dropping the cup in the trash on the way to his speeder. He’d consider it a waste if the drink he’d grabbed from the mess had any taste to speak of.

Members of the Coruscant Guard didn’t have patrol routes, per se. They weren’t meant to replace the police force after all—they were meant to provide security to the Senate and the military in addition to policing GAR-related incidents.That being said, certain parts of the capital were frequented by significantly more GAR personnel than others, and that created predictable points of interest. It only made sense that those points of interest be assigned to certain individuals who could become familiar with their work and thus more efficient. And that was how CT-8569, or ‘Reese,’ as he liked to be called, had been given the 79's beat.

For almost a year now Reese had been the main person anyone at the clone bar interacted with on official business, but there had been enough trouble at 79's that Commander Fox had recently decided Reese shouldn’t be the only trooper to work the route. He’d assigned Reese to train up Watt and a couple of other troopers on a rotating basis, citing things like “institutional knowledge loss” and “redundancies” when he’d given Reese the news. Reese didn’t mind the assignment—more back up was always welcome and with the new troopers eventually taking over some of his shifts, Reese would get to go on some other assignments and his answer to “What did you do during the war?” wouldn’t always be “Clean up after my fellow soldier’s drunken messes.”

Watt was beyond thrilled to get the assignment. Reese knew that in his brother’s eyes it was practically a vacation, and Reese had to agree that it was certainly more lively and less dangerous than an escort or bodyguard assignment. Reese didn’t mind his work, but he didn’t think his brothers realized that going to 79's to wind down after a tense mission was very different from going to break up a fight between two drunk clones and take them in for disciplinary action. Reese didn’t go to 79's for fun, and whenever he _did_ get leave he was too sick of the place to visit with his squadmates. In a way, his assignment ruined one of the only off-base locations the clones were allowed to enjoy. As much as it wasn’t in Reese’s nature to complain, it sucked.

He pulled up to the dank platform on which the clone bar rested and strode into the building, shoulders tucked back and chin held high in his best authoritative posture.

“Take your helmet off,” he told Watt as he removed his own.

“But we’re on official business…” Watt said.

“You’ve only really worked with the Senate or members of the GAR, haven’t you?”

Watt nodded hesitantly.

“People in the Senate feel more comfortable when our helmets are on. It makes us seem more like anonymous, professional bodyguards whose only purpose is to protect them. It’s also easier to send us to the front lines when they can’t see our face,” Reese explained as he strode across the broad platform towards the club’s entrance. “Regular civilians, on the other hand, feel unnerved when we’re helmeted. To them we’re only around if violence is about to break out. Seeing our faces sets them at ease and humanizes us.”

“Humanizes us?” Watt asked skeptically. “I’d have thought the identical faces would make them uncomfortable.”

Reese grinned as he stepped through the entrance to 79's, and he looked over his shoulder at Watt and pointed to the tattoo creeping up his neck and ending just under his jaw. “That’s why I got this.”

As soon as Reese stepped through the doors the manager, a Rodian man named Biss, walked up to him.

“Thanks for coming, officer. Two groups of clones have been arguing with each other for about an hour now. It got physical maybe twenty minutes ago, when I called,” he said, pointing to a cluster of booths off in the far corner of the bar.

Reese resisted the urge to sigh at the sight of a group of seven or eight clones in their GAR armor tussling like a bunch of rowdy cadets. He marched towards them with Watt walking behind, noting the green and blue armor of the 41st and the 501st.

“The 501st is always rushing ahead without planning or consideration,” one of the green soldiers was shouting into a blue soldier’s face. “They get all the glory but the newsreels don’t show the mess they leave behind—the mess that battalions like the 41st have to clean up!”

“You think we don’t pay a price for being the tip of the spear? We lose brothers, but somebody has to lead the charge. And on the front lines things don’t always go according to plan,” the blue soldier shouted back.

“Please, if you’re going to fight, take it outside,” a feminine, decidedly non-clone voice rose above the din.

A young woman with eerily pale skin and long grey hair that didn’t match her age shoved between the two clones, and Reese had to respect her guts. He’d seen her here before, though she was a relatively new server at the bar. He didn’t know her name yet.

“Soldiers,” Reese barked with his best officer’s voice—one he knew they’d all been programmed to obey, “Break it up!”

Several of the clones turned to Reese and stood at attention, but the two in the middle—an ARC trooper and a pilot, by the looks of it—still glared at each other, each one spitting invectives under his breath while the poor waitress remained stuck in the middle.

Reese shoved the two men apart and gave the woman an opening to extricate herself from the fracas.

“Soldiers, stand down or not only will your commanders know about this, but I’ll inform Commander Fox, too.”

The two clones turned their ire towards Reese, each hitting him with a full force glare, but they complied.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for all this,” Reese told the woman with an expression of practiced empathy. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, but if they keep this up we won’t have any more customers,” she said, crossing her arms sternly across her chest.

“I understand, ma’am. This behavior is unacceptable and these men will be disciplined,” Reese said.

“Stay out of our business you flimsi-pushing Corrie,” the ARC trooper in blue said, his face contorted in anger.

Reese resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the insult he must have heard a thousand times by now.

“The purpose of this war,” Reese said in his even, patient tone, “is to protect the lives and livelihoods of the citizens of the Republic. Why fight for those citizens on the front lines, then come back to their homes on leave and trash their establishments? I may not understand what it’s like on the front lines, but I understand that your little pissing contest is generating collateral damage and diminishing the reputation of the GAR and clones everywhere.”

“‘Pissing contest’?” the ARC Trooper said, and Reese imagined he could see a vein sticking out of the black number five tattooed on the clone’s temple. “This brother accused my entire battalion of recklessness and endangering others. Maybe another day I would let it pass, but do you know how many brothers I lost on Umbara? I’m not going to take that lying down.”

 _Oh. Umbara_ , Reese thought. He’d heard about the disastrous campaign there. Long, drawn-battles in the unending dark with heavy casualties. He’d even heard whispers of a rogue Jedi turning his lightsaber on his own men. Compared to the clones the Jedi were practically gods, and Reese shuddered to think what it would feel like to face one down. Like an ant getting squished under a boot.

“Look, ARC trooper…?” Reese said.

“Fives,” the clone responded.

“Fives. I heard about Umbara—heard it was a shitshow. It’s understandable that both you and…?” Reese gestures towards the pilot.

“Arrow.”

“...Arrow are angry. But we can’t let that turn us against each other. We’re brothers—we fight for the same cause and we bleed for the same cause,” Reese said.

Fives’ face softened and he looked back over at the other 501st clones with him, many of whom looked anxious to leave. Arrow seemed less convinced.

“And you also don’t want that anger to get you banned from one of the only places you can order a drink on the planet,” Reese added. “Hell, this is one of the only places any of us can order a drink in the galaxy.”

Arrow grudgingly stepped back from Fives, but his shoulders were still tense and angry.

“Look, if you guys clean up your mess and leave now, I’ll see that you only get reduced leave and a verbal reprimand. If you keep this up it’s going to go over my head and I can’t promise you anything,” Reese said.

“Fine, fine,” Arrow relented, tossing his hands up in the air.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Fives said to Arrow. “The Corrie’s right—we shouldn’t be fighting.”

“Does that work for you, ma’am?” Reese asked the waitress.

“Fine, sure. Whatever gets them out of here,” the woman said.

The 41st and 501st troopers started righting the tables and cleaning up the spilled drinks and broken bottles, and Reese made sure to get all their identifying codes. He instructed Watt to help finish with the cleanup, then approached the server who had retreated back to the bar.

“Pardon me ma’am, but do you mind giving me a complete description of the disturbance for my report?”

The waitress looked up from the bartop she was wiping down, her pale grey eyes taking Reese aback. She couldn’t be entirely human, he concluded, not that it mattered.

“Sure, although I think you already got the gist of it. They started fighting, knocked some tables and chairs over, spilled some drinks. I tried to break it up, then you came,” she said, nodding in his direction.

“Any details I’m missing that you think are important?”

“Not that I can think of. Pretty run-of-the-mill bar fight. Happens all the time.”

Reese frowned. These kinds of fights _shouldn’t_ be common. The clones were trained better than that, they _knew_ better than that. But unfortunately disciplinary problems had been more frequent lately, tempers flaring and patience diminishing in tandem with the worsening situation on the front lines.

“I’d like to officially apologize on behalf of the GAR Miss…”

“Tomera. Kiraz Tomera.”

It was a pretty name, Reese thought, though he wasn’t very familiar with female names.

“And did any of the soldiers harass or harm you in particular?”

Kiraz shook her head. “Not beyond what naturally happens when you put yourself between two people in a fight.”

 _Thank the Force for small mercies_ , Reese thought. At least the soldiers had the good sense to not target an innocent civilian.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll go talk to the manager before I leave, then I’ll escort the troublemakers out. They will be disciplined, I assure you. Is there anything else I can help with?”

“No, I don’t think so, you’ve been very helpful,” she said. “What was your name?”

Reese hesitated a moment. Did she mean his identifying code or his chosen name? He was serving in an official capacity right now, so he should probably give his CT code.

“...Reese,” he said.

“It’s good to meet you Officer Reese. Guess I’ll see you the next time a trooper has a little too much to drink, huh?”

Reese wasn’t an officer, but he decided not to correct her. “If you are ever in need of assistance, don’t hesitate to comm.”

She smiled at him, and Reese resisted the urge to look away, reminding himself that he needed to seem warm and friendly with civilians. He just wasn’t used to people being warm and friendly back. He gave her a crisp nod and went to find Biss.

\---

Kiraz’s heartbeat gradually slowed to a reasonable pace as she watched the red-armored clone trooper walk away. She’d known that members of the Coruscant Guard typically didn’t get involved with civilian criminal issues, but she’d still been nervous.

Strictly speaking, at twenty years old Kiraz wasn’t old enough to be serving alcohol on Coruscant. She’d tentatively asked Biss about this when he’d hired her, but he’d dismissed her concerns with a laugh.

 _“Don’t worry about it. You’d be surprised by how good a place a clone bar is to conduct illegal activities. The clones don’t know much about civilian laws, and jurisdiction over crime here is always murky since there are so many military types about. I don’t think Coruscant Police has set foot in here since the war started,”_ he’d said.

If she wasn’t a refugee Kiraz wouldn’t have raised the issue in the first place, but she was, and the last thing she needed was to get on the wrong side of the law after finally finding housing for her and her family. She’d still felt a little bad about accepting an illegal position, even if she was confident she wouldn’t get caught, but ultimately she’d signed on with Biss. She’d really needed the money, and principles didn’t pay the bills.

Thankfully, it looked like Biss had been right. Either the clone named Reese wasn’t concerned about underaged service of alcoholic beverages, or he had a really terrible sense of age. From what she’d heard about how the clones aged relative to non-clones, it might be both.

Working at the clone bar was… different. Kiraz had never worked at any other bar before, so she had no comparison, but she knew for certain that no other bar on Coruscant saw over 80% full of the same faces every night. She didn’t interact with the clones—or any other customers, for that matter—much outside of taking their orders and getting them their drinks, but her overall impression was that they were an alright bunch. They got a bit rowdy at times, but it seemed justified considering the enormous amount of stress they were under. The Republic didn’t publicize casualties and worked hard to project an image of optimism, but Kiraz could tell from the number of somber memorials spoken around drinks that the clones were taking heavy losses. She’d heard one of them mention Umbara and shuddered, pushing the unwanted memories to the back of her mind. If the clones didn’t so often behave like children and make her life difficult, she might feel sorry for them.

Kiraz leaned against the bar, her heavy eyes relishing the moment the disruption had given her to rest. Then Biss approached her, looking about as angry as his non-threateningly large Rodian eyes could manage.

“Kiraz,” he hissed, “Did you forget to tell the bartender to make the drinks for clones? How did they get so drunk?”

“I didn’t forget,” Kiraz said, “but even watered down, if you drink enough fast enough you’re gonna feel it.”

“Keep it down!” Biss said, pulling her farther into an unoccupied corner of the bar. “Do you want all these clones to riot?”

Another thing Biss had told her right when she’d first joined was that the clones were served different, significantly less potent drinks from the other customers.

 _“They don’t know the difference,”_ Biss had said, _“and the GAR pays me a flat fee to serve any clone several drinks a night. Watering down the drinks keeps them from getting in too much trouble and keeps me in the black—it’s a victimless crime.”_

“Don’t worry, Biss, nobody heard me,” Kiraz said with a wave of her hand, then hissed as her hand started stinging at the too-enthusiastic gesture.

“Kriff,” she said, looking down to find that her hand was bleeding from a thin slice across her palm. “Must have cut it cleaning up the broken bottles.”

“Who cares about your hand? If I hear any complaints from the GAR about-”

“Excuse me, Miss Tomera?” a clone voice said, tapping Kiraz on the shoulder.

Biss shut his mouth and Kiraz nearly jumped out of her skin before turning to face clone trooper Reese.

“Yes officer?” she said while Biss smoothly excused himself and disappeared into the crowded bar. Maybe Biss had been wrong, and Officer Reese cared about civilian laws regarding the service of alcohol by underage individuals.

Reese smiled a mild, toothless smile at her. “It’s just Reese, or CT-8659 if you’d prefer. I’m not an officer.”

“Oh ok…” Kiraz said, waiting for the hammer to drop while trying to look entirely innocent.

“I just realized I forgot to ask for your registration number. I need it for the reports.”

“Oh,” Kiraz said dazedly. It looked like she was still in the clear. “It’s CSUL-15554789968.”

She’d memorized the ungodly-long number as soon as she’d received it, the housing registration number serving as the primary form of identification on Coruscant. As a refugee she’d been beyond lucky that she and her parents had been granted housing registration so quickly, and she cherished that number like a family heirloom.

“Thank you,” Reese said, typing the number into a datapad. He looked up from the datapad, presumably to say goodbye, then stopped short. “Were you injured?” he asked in alarm.

Kiraz looked down at her hand like she’d forgotten it was there. “It’s nothing,” she said hastily. “I’ll just find a bandage in the back.”

“I’ve got one,” he said pulling a tiny first aid kit from his utility belt. He seemed to be prepared for anything.

“Really, it’s fine,” Kiraz said.

“You were injured by a member of the GAR, this is the least I can do. Besides, now that a civilian injury was involved, I have other reports to file and questions to ask.”

He took her hand in his and gingerly sprayed disinfectant on the cut and began wrapping it in a clean plain bandage. She didn’t resist, though she wasn’t eager to answer more questions.

“It’s really nothing, and it’s not like the soldiers hurt me. I just cut my hand on a broken bottle.”

“A bottle that was broken because of their disorderly behavior,” Reese said with a frown.

Most clones had a face that seemed made to frown, but somehow not Reese. Kiraz knew it didn’t make any sense since Reese shared the exact same face as all the other clones, but somehow it was true. Maybe it was the skillful way he’d mediated the disagreement between his brothers when most clones would have opted for a strict disciplinary approach, or maybe it was his overall welcoming demeanor. Either way, Kiraz didn’t like to see it.

“Look, let’s just look past that and I can get back to work and you won’t need to file more reports,” she said.

Reese suddenly stopped wrapping her hand and he froze.

 _What? What did I say?_ Kiraz thought.

His warm expression closed up and he slowly finished wrapping her hand, the rich golden-brown of his eyes turning cool in the dim light of the club.

“Of course, ma’am,” he said briskly, stepping back and putting his first aid kit away. He paused for a moment as if unsure how to dismiss himself, then opted for a simple nod and walked away.

Kiraz watched him weave his way through the crowd towards the exit in bewilderment, feeling like she must have offended him but completely at a loss as to how. She felt guilty—he’d been nice. And if he was regularly assigned to 79's she’d certainly be seeing him again.

“Kiraz! Section delta has been waiting to order!” Biss’s strident voice cut through the noise of the bar. “Get back to work!”

Kiraz hurried off to the section of tables Biss mentioned, wiping her newly-bandaged hand on her server’s apron as she went. She didn't have time to worry about the Coruscant guardsmen and his feelings. She needed to get through another day of work without getting fired then head home in time to take care of Emil for the night.

Kiraz approached the table that looked like they’d been waiting the longest for service, noting that once again it was a table full of clones. These clones seemed to be in a good mood, but the smiles on their faces had that frenetic energy Kiraz usually found in people trying too hard to forget their worries. She sighed as she started taking orders. This was going to be a long night.


	2. Bringing Up Baby

“Hey Reese, you and Watt get down to 79's,” Captain Taiko said, poking his head into the miniscule office Reese shared with several other patrol troopers in an obscure corner of the RCMO. “It’s Flex again.”

Reese leaned back in his chair and groaned. He’d never finish his reports at this rate. “How does he keep getting in? He’s been banned so many times.”

“Who’s Flex?” Watt asked as he gathered up his things.

“A marine with the 21st,” Reese said. “He’s one of our less socially aware troopers and he’s… lonely.”

Captain Taiko snorted. “That’s _one_ way to put it. Get down there and bring him in for disciplinary action. And you might to inform him that people are starting to talk about reconditioning.”

Reese grimaced. As much of a menace as Flex was becoming, he wouldn’t wish reconditioning on anyone. Of course, if Flex’s behavior continued to deteriorate, what else could be done?

Reese and Watt rode to 79's, dodging through traffic as the orange glow of their speeders blended into the luminous tapestry of the Coruscant night. Reese wondered what he might say that could change Flex’s behavior. Flex was obnoxious, true, but Reese couldn’t help but sympathize with his brother. It was hard to be on Coruscant as a trooper sometimes—citizens enjoying their rights as free people were all around, a constant reminder of the privileges the clones were denied. Reese couldn’t condone Flex’s actions, but he understood the impulse behind them.

Such philosophical musings ended as Watt and Reese pulled up to 79's. Reese strode into the club and looked around. It was late in the day and the club was packed, but he knew what to look for and he located his quarry immediately. A clone in maroon armor leaned casually against the bar, his long hair loose and his posture relaxed as he drifted a little too far into a server’s personal space.

“So when do you get off your shift?” Flex said, oblivious to the way the waitress recoiled at his proximity. “I can tell you’re curious, and I’d be happy to satisfy that curiosity.”

Flex was standing directly between the server and a tray full of drinks she clearly needed to reach.

Kriff, Reese thought as the server’s pale features and grey hair sparked his memory. It was that waitress from the fight between the 41st and the 501st a few weeks ago. As if she needed any more reasons to have a poor opinion of clones.

Reese sighed and maneuvered through the crowd towards Flex, positioning himself between Flex and the waitress. Kiraz, he remembered. Watt reached the bar a few seconds after Reese and planted himself at Reese’s right flank. Reese doubted he’d really need backup on this, but he appreciated the gesture.

“CT-1777,” Reese said, clapping Flex on the shoulder, “I keep getting complaints about you.”

Flex looked towards Reese in surprise, although this entire situation was all too predictable. “Reese? Come on, you know I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You know my name, Flex, and you aren’t a part of the Coruscant Guard. That’s never a good sign.”

“Hey, you here to collect this loser?” a maroon Twi’lek woman asked, walking up to the bar. “Yesterday it was me, and today he bugged Kiraz all afternoon.”

“I’m not bugging anyone, I’m just having a conversation,” Flex protested.

“You’re the one who called? Quilana?” Reese asked the Twi’lek woman.

She nodded. “Yeah. I could have security throw him out, but he’s already been banned and somehow keeps getting in. Was hoping you might have better luck keeping your own under control.”

“That’s what we strive for, ma’am. My apologies for the trouble.”

“I don’t want your apologies, I want him gone,” Quilana said.

Reese was about to placate the angry Twi’lek when he noticed the expression of the other server. Kiraz looked on the verge of tears, her hands fidgeting nervously and her eyes darting frequently to the door behind the bar.

“Kiraz?” he asked, and her gaze jerked back to him. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

“Um, yes. I’m fine, thank you. If you could just take Flex away, he’s banned from 79's.”

“I’m just flirting. As far as I know, that’s not against the law,” Flex protested.

“CT-1777, you know standard laws for citizens don’t apply to us. And businesses are allowed to refuse service, as they’ve done to you,” Watt said.

“Usually that kind of reasoning goes for people in a position of authority. Increased power goes with increased accountability. But we have no personal rights _and_ increased accountability. How’s that right?” Flex said.

Reese rolled his eyes. “I’d find your argument significantly more compelling if you were trying to open a business or earn a wage rather than harassing uninterested women.”

“Who says they’re uninterested?” Flex said.

“We do!” Kiraz and Quilana said in tandem.

“Alright, alright,” Flex said with his hands up.

“Look, Flex. Will you come with us willingly or am I gonna have to drag you out of here in binders?” Reese said.

Flex looked around at the two angry servers and the two clones in red surrounding him and hung his head in defeat. “I’m coming.”

Reese and Watt marched him out of the building and to their speeders and helped Flex onto the back of Watt’s speeder.

“Watt will book you while I try to patch things up with 79's,” Reese said. “Don’t want to get any other clones banned because you can’t stop thinking with what’s in your pants.”

Flex accepted the directions with minimal grumbling, his expression resigned. This wasn’t the first time Reese had brought him in, and Reese worried the lesson wasn’t sticking. Reese turned to head back inside, then thought better of it and rounded back on Flex with a sigh.

“Look, Flex. I don’t want to see you here again.”

Flex nodded repentantly, but Reese wasn’t buying it. “I’m serious. They’re talking about sending you back to Kamino.”

Flex’s tan features paled. “They… General Mundi wouldn’t do that to me…”

“Keep this up and it’ll be out of General Mundi’s hands. Don’t come to 79's any more, and if a woman isn’t _enthusiastically eager_ to be talking to you, leave her alone.”

“Where would I even meet anyone if I can’t go to 79's?” Flex said.

“That’s the spirit,” Reese said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Watt, take him back for me, will you?”

“Sure thing, Reese.”

Reese waved the two troopers off and went back inside the club, making his way back to the bar. Quilana was still there, but Kiraz was nowhere to be found. Reese interviewed Quilana, nodding in sympathy and taking the time to listen to even the complaints that had no relevance to his report, then set off in search of Kiraz. She was mysteriously absent from the floor for several minutes, though it was difficult to tell if she was gone or if he’d just missed her in the crush of officers, troopers, and civilians. Eventually Reese spotted her coming out of the door back behind the bar.

“Kiraz!” he said, dodging a pair of drunk pilots and weaving between two rowdy marines to get to her. He caught her eye, and she looked away quickly, looking for all the world like she might pretend she hadn’t heard him. Karking hell, how much had he pissed her off last time?

Reese had been around civvies long enough to be able to recognize how people felt about him, and the last time he’d seen her it had been clear as day that she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. She’d barely tolerated him patching up her injured hand, and now she was pretending he didn’t exist.

Reese was tempted to just walk away. If talking to him was so distasteful, he could just make up her answers for the reports. He’d probably be able to guess pretty close to what she’d actually say, anyway. But he couldn’t do that. Reese didn’t know if it was the genetic engineering or his own, homegrown conscience, but he took his job seriously and something within him recoiled at the thought of misrepresenting one of the people he was tasked with protecting.

“Kiraz!” he said again, loud enough that she couldn’t feign deafness. She jumped a little at the sound of his voice, then turned around to meet him just as she’d reached one of the emptier corners of the club behind the bar.

She looked nervous, and as Reese closed the distance between them he started to feel bad—like he was a predator who’d just cornered his helpless prey. He hooked his helmet to his belt and kept his hands at his side, putting a gentle smile on his face that he hoped might ease the tension.

“I’m sorry for shouting, it’s so hard to get anyone’s attention in here,” he said.

“Oh it’s no problem officer…?” she said, trailing off.

Reese stared blankly at her for a long moment before realizing she was asking for his name.

“Reese,” he said. “...We met a few weeks ago.”

“Oh,” she said, looking more bewildered than embarrassed. “I’m sorry, you all have the same face.”

“I have a tattoo,” Reese protested, pointing to the large symbol of the Coruscant Guard that creeped up his neck.

“I see,” she said. “I guess I didn’t notice.”

“Then what was the _karking point_ ,” Reese snapped before he thought better of it, his hand flying up to touch the dark design. It had _kriffing hurt_ to get it done, and he didn’t even like tattoos.

She raised her eyebrows, the thin grey hairs nearly disappearing into her pale forehead, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“Ah, sorry,” Reese said, collecting himself. If that was how it was going to be he’d just have to get used to people not recognizing him. He wasn’t about to go and get a huge face tattoo over it. “Well anyway, I’m Reese, and I have a few questions for my report again. You know the drill.”

“Of course,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes darting towards the back door behind the bar again.

Reese narrowed his eyes at her. She was obviously hiding something, though if he had to guess he didn’t think it was related to Flex. “Alright… So tell me tell me what happened.”

Kiraz walked Reese through Flex’s harassment, starting almost as soon as she got to the club and continuing until Reese and Watt’s arrival. He’d followed her around, made inappropriate jokes, and tried to intimidate some of her male customers. He’d been persistent, annoying, and had interfered with her work, but he hadn’t touched her, thank the Force. At least Flex had some sense of boundaries.

“Are we done, then?” Kiraz asked after answering a handful of Reese’s followup questions. “I really need to get back to work.”

Reese hesitated a moment, wanting to get to the bottom of whatever was making Kiraz so jumpy but unable to find a reason to keep her any longer. “Yeah, that’s all.”

“Great,” she said, immediately bolting for the bar.

He watched her go, a gut sense of dissatisfaction settling in his stomach.

“Ma’am, wait a second-” he said.

She turned. “Yes?”

“If, uh… If you need anything…”

Her brow furrowed, like she was looking at a rambling vagrant from the lower levels and didn’t quite know what to make of him.

“Just…” he continued. “The Coruscant Guard is here to serve the citizens of Coruscant. With whatever they need.”

“...Thank you, but I-”

“Kiraz!” Quilana burst out of the back door behind the bar, her arms full of a squirming bundle. “I’ve tried to look the other way, but you just can’t leave a kid unattended in the back.”

Quilana drew nearer and a tiny pale foot stuck out of the squirming bundle of cloth. What little color Kiraz had drained from her face, leaving her skin almost translucent in the fluorescent lights. She rushed over to Quilana and pulled what Reese now understood to be a baby into her arms.

“Why’d you bring him out here,” she hissed.

“What was I supposed to do?” Quilana said. “He was getting underfoot and the kitchen staff were complaining.”

“What’s going on here?” Reese said, stepping up to the two women.

Kiraz’s head jerked in his direction. “I’m not doing anything illegal.”

“I never said you were, but you seem to be in distress.”

“Of _course_ I’m in distress, you laserbrain. I have to figure out a way to watch this kid and somehow keep my job. Wouldn't you be in distress?”

“Why would you bring him to work, Kiraz?” Quilana said, hands on hips. “ _Especially_ when you work at a _club_.”

“Do you think I had a choice?”

The tiny foot tucked itself back into the blanket, and Kiraz began reflexively rocking and swaying the baby as she faced down her angry Twi’lek coworker. Reese didn’t think he’d seen a foot that small since Kamino—maybe even since he was that small himself. On Kamino the youngest cadets spent all day in giant nursery chambers, separated from their older brothers.

“I can watch him.”

Four eyes turned towards Reese and Quilana and Kiraz both stared at him, dumbstruck.

“What?” Kiraz said.

“I said I’ll watch him. Your shift ends in what… three hours? I have flimsiwork to do. I can watch him in the back while I fill out my reports,” Reese said.

Kiraz sputtered speechless for a long moment.

Quilana shook her head. “I have six tables waiting for me. You two figure this out,” she said, walking away.

Reese stood awkwardly in front of Kiraz, unsure how to read her reaction. If she wasn’t going to accept his help that was fine, but it would be nice to know sooner rather than later.

“This isn’t some kind of trap?” Kiraz asked, holding the child tightly to her chest. “You’re not setting me up to arrest me or something?”

“You said yourself you weren’t doing anything illegal. Citizen crimes are outside of my jurisdiction—is there something illegal about bringing a child to work?” he asked.

A funny look crossed Kiraz’s face, and Reese got the impression that some of the intricacies of civilian law were probably going over his head. It didn’t bother him too much, though. Coruscant Security Force didn’t really like interacting with the GAR, and the feeling was largely mutual. Sure, it probably wasn’t a good idea to bring a young child to a club, but Kiraz was obviously in a bind, and she’d tried to keep the child out of the areas where alcohol was being served. His duty was to keep the citizens of the Republic safe, and he didn’t see how running to CSF to report her would accomplish that.

Kiraz studied his face with startling intensity, and he resisted the urge to fidget under her scrutiny. Her eyes narrowed, then relaxed as she nodded her head.

“Alright then. I’ll accept your help.

* * *

Kiraz got maybe four to five hours of sleep a day, six on a good day. It was difficult to operate on so little sleep but she had no choice—she, her mother, and her father all worked and somebody had to watch over Emil. They’d worked it out so their job hours alternated—father worked early morning shifts at the docks, mother worked during the day at a textile factory, and Kiraz worked the late shift at 79's. Each of them spent a good chunk of their time off watching Emil and the rest sleeping, hence Kiraz’s near constant state of sleep deprivation.

It would have been nice if one of them could watch over Emil full-time, but considering the price of rent and the wages at the jobs they were able to get, they all had to work every day. If they lost their housing, their housing registration would lapse and they’d have no legal status on Coruscant. It was basically the worst thing that could happen to a refugee here.

Despite the constant threat of homelessness and loss of legal status looming over them, It was still better than being on Umbara. They’d known when they’d fled their home planet that life would be hard on Coruscant, but when talk of an invasion started and drafts were invoked, they’d all agreed that leaving was their best option. Kiraz might be tired, but she wasn’t afraid for her life.

So Kiraz, her mother, and her father worked day in and day out, and when they weren’t working or sleeping they watched Emil. The system wasn’t perfect, but it worked. That is, it worked until the day Kiraz’s mother woke up with a high fever and had to go to the hospital.

Her mother’s illness combined with a complicated childcare schedule that left no room for error had somehow brought her to this point: standing in a crowded club that reeked of booze, handing her baby nephew over to a clone trooper’s care.

Helplessness and anxiety nearly overwhelmed Kiraz as Reese took Emil in his plastoid vambraces. Every fiber in her being resisted, screaming that she couldn’t trust her brother's child to this near-stranger. She knew almost nothing about Reese, and common opinion among the civilians of the Republic held that clones didn’t understand anything beyond shooting blasters and battle formations. It was irresponsible, a terrible idea, really, and Trung would never forgive her if he ever found out.

But she had no other choice.

“Uh, what do I need to do besides hold him?” Reese asked.

Emil wriggled in Reese’s uncertain arms, and he popped his pale head out of the dark blanket, his wispy white hair reflecting the heavy neon lights of the club. He blinked his large, innocent eyes in confusion, and Reese looked down at him with an equally flummoxed expression. He’d be doomed without some guidance.

Kiraz grabbed Reese’s arm and pulled him towards the employee only area. “Follow me. I’ll get you set up.”

“Alright…”

He sounded hesitant, and Kiraz wondered if maybe he was regretting his offer. Well, it was too late for him to back out now. This might be Kiraz’s only way of getting through her shift with both her nephew and her job intact, and she wasn’t about to let it go.

“All you have to do is keep him alive for another three hours,” she said as she towed him through the crowd. “If he cries that’s alright. Just keep him breathing.”

“I should be able to do that.”

She led him into the back rooms, through the small kitchen where the club’s limited menu was prepared and to the storage room where she’d left Emil earlier. She plucked Emil from Reese’s arms and placed him gingerly in the small portable crib she’d left him in at the start of her shift. She’d checked on him as often as she could throughout her shift, but everyone had noticed her frequent trips to the back rooms and her absence on the club floor. It was a miracle she’d gotten this far into her shift without getting chewed out, and she’d _still_ felt on pins and needles every second she spent away from her nephew.That combined with Flex’s stalking had made this the most stressful shift of Kiraz’s life.

“This is Emil,” she told Reese, giving her nephew a gentle kiss on his fuzzy head. “He’s one year old. If he cries, he’s either hungry, tired, bored, or has a dirty diaper. There are diapers and milk in there,” she pointed to a bag propped up next to the crib. “Feeding is pretty intuitive, and if he’s bored just play with him. Diapers…you should probably just leave to me.”

“Play with him?” Reese asked, scratching the back of his head. It occurred to Kiraz that the only babies Reese had ever interacted with before were likely clones. She didn’t know exactly what a baby clone’s life might look like, but it was probably pretty different from what she was used to.

“Yeah, just… Make funny faces at him, swing him up and down, sing to him—that kind of thing.”

“Alright… Alright,” Reese said, hesitant at first and then with the conviction of a soldier.

The clone trooper looked down at Emil, who was happily amusing himself by rolling around in his crib, then sat down on the ground next to him. He unclipped his helmet from his belt and set it on an unopened crate of Corellian whiskey, then pulled out a mini datapad and leaned back into the cold metal wall to work. There was no way he was comfortable with the rigid plastoid armor bits digging into his back and legs, but he seemed content as he started flipping through whatever flimsiwork was required of a Coruscant guardsman.

“I’ll… I’ll check on you when I can, but I might not be able to come back for a while. I’m probably already in deep trouble as it is,” Kiraz said.

“That’s fine. I think I can manage to keep him alive for three hours,” Reese said.

“Ok then, I’ll leave you to it.”

With one last worried glance at Emil, Kiraz fled the room, leaving the door to the kitchen open behind her. On her way back to the club she passed by Wanchai, a chef in the kitchen she’d befriended a few weeks back, and asked him to check in on Reese and Emil every once in a while for her. This might be her only option, but she was still going to do as much as she could to ensure Emil’s safety.

Back on the club floor Kiraz was immediately pulled in six different directions. The club was packed and the wait staff had obviously suffered in her absence. Quilana shot her a dirty look, and Kiraz threw herself into taking orders and delivering drinks, trying her best to win back her colleagues' good graces. She was reasonably confident Quilana would forgive her. Quilana’s temper ran hot, but she was understanding and she liked Kiraz.

Kiraz worked in a furious daze, taking order after order and serving drink after drink, all while anxiety over her nephew pressed down on her as oppressive as the pollution of Coruscant’s lower atmosphere. She tried not to watch the clock, but inevitably gave in to temptation every five minutes. The upside of her trance was that she didn’t miss a single order, didn’t drop a single glass. It was probably her most productive hours at work ever.

Some time near the end of Kiraz’s shift, her concentration was broken when a bickering couple nearly knocked her off her feet as the woman stormed off the dance floor and her clone paramour followed her.

“You can’t put me in this position,” said the woman, a human with caf-colored skin and long dark hair.

“But I want to be with you,” the clone said, taking off his officer’s cap and clutching it tightly in two hands.

Kiraz wondered for a moment if she should intervene on the woman’s behalf, but this looked more like a lover’s quarrel than harassment. Cases like Flex were actually pretty rare. Most of the clones didn’t invest much energy in picking up girlfriends (or boyfriends), and those who did were generally respectful about it. Most of the relationships Kiraz saw play out in 79's were casual—everyone knew how impossible anything longer lasting would be. But every once in a while she’d see a clone who was convinced his love would last for the long haul.

“I like you, Quick, but what good will that do either of us?” the woman said. “We should just end this now, before it gets worse.”

“I can give you a good life.”

The woman shook her head and scoffed. “You can’t even give yourself a good life, Quick.”

The poor clone looked like he was about to cry, and Kiraz was desperate to get out of their way. Every once in a while something would happen that would remind her of how depressing the clone’s lives were, and she hated it. Kiraz retreated to the bar, and as she dodged and weaved she thought back to what Flex had said when Reese had first come to pick him up. _But we have no personal rights_ and _increased accountability._ There really was no justice in the galaxy.

Kiraz put those thoughts out of her mind as she picked up the drinks her last table had ordered. She felt bad for the clones, she really did. But Coruscant was a tough place, and she was constantly one wrong move away from catastrophe. She didn’t have the time or energy to spare on sympathy for them. Besides, they’d been engineered to be content with their lot. And anyone who’d spent any amount of time with the clones could see how much they enjoyed being soldiers, how much they loved the sting of battle, how much they reveled in their brotherhood.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Kiraz’s shift didn’t go on forever. Not long after her runin with the quarrelling couple Pilar came to relieve her for the morning shift (79's was an all-hours club, although the day crowd was much thinner than the night), and she retreated to the back rooms.

She glided through the kitchen, catching Wanchai’s eye and asking him a question with her expression alone. _Anything seem off?_

Wanchai didn’t stop frying sweet cakes, but smiled and shot her a quick thumbs up. Kiraz let out a sigh of relief as she continued on to the storage room. She pushed open the door and stumbled inside, almost tripping right over Reese and Emil.

“ _Shadowed sun_ , I’m sorry!” she yelped.

Reese rebalanced Emil on his knee and gave him a couple good bounces. Emil giggled happily, and Reese smiled back before looking up at Kiraz. “No harm done. Your shift is over?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, taking Emil from his arms and squeezing him in a gentle hug. “You really saved me tonight.”

Reese stood and tucked his helmet under his arm. “It’s no problem,” he said, and his golden brown eyes glowed in the storage room’s bright lights. Funny, in the neon dimness of the club she’d never noticed how beautiful they were.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Kiraz looked to the ground and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I, uh… I never would have brought him here except that the person who normally watches him got sick. I didn’t really have a choice.”

“That’s not really my business, ma’am,” Reese said. “It’s my duty to aid the citizens of the Republic, and if that means watching a baby for a few hours, well… that’s probably one of the simpler things I could do.”

“Your superiors won’t be unhappy?”

“I commed them to let them know I’d be here, and I was able to do most of my flimsiwork from here. Actually got caught up on a lot of things, to be honest. You’d be amazed at how many distractions there are back at the RCMO.”

“Well, um… Thank you,” Kiraz said, the words feeling inadequate. “And, uh, I promise to remember your name next time.”

Reese flashed her a smile that could light up the surface of Umbara, and she had to blink away its brilliance.

“Just doing my duty, ma’am,” he said. He bent down to Emil’s level and saluted him, a goofy expression of mock seriousness on his face, then left the storage room.

Kiraz watched him leave, and her eyes lingered on the empty doorway for a long moment. She was so, so tired, and she still couldn’t quite believe her rescue had come in the form of a member of the Coruscant Guard. She’d heard once that Coruscant’s name had come from the glittering shimmer of the planet’s cityscape, and the description seemed to match Reese’s parting smile perfectly.

“ _Kriff_ ,” she said, belatedly remembering to cover Emil’s virgin ears. She looked down at his face, his large grey eyes blinking up at her curiously. “I think I might be in trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make it as justifiable as possible given the context, but don't give your babies to strangers, people! Anyway I'm really loving this story and having a blast writing it. I know OCs can be hard to get into, but I hope y'all can give Reese and Kiraz a shot! Thanks for reading!


	3. Quiet Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! I've got a pretty good outline for this story and tbh I really love it, so I'm not abandoning it! I also drew up some character designs for Reese and Kiraz, and might share them if they're ever polished enough that I'm not embarrassed haha. Hope you enjoy!

“Thanks for getting us this nice booth, Reese,” Nexus said, settling back into the dark faux leather seat and closing his eyes like it was the most luxurious nerf leather.

Reese’s whole batch was there—all five of them, each tasked with one of the more public-facing posts on Coruscant. Nexus headed up security at the power plant that powered the GAR’s military bases on-planet, Hound worked with the rescue and recovery unit, Halflife worked at the military prison, Hackett was on Senate bodyguard duty—back on Kamino none of them had imagined this was what their service would look like, but here they were.

“Anyone can get a booth. There are pretty much no strings to pull here,” Reese said, deflecting the thanks. His eyes darted over to Commander Fox at the far end of the booth, and he doubted that Fox would see Nexus’s words in a positive light. Word from the higher ups was that clones should avoid entanglements with civilians, and Reese didn’t want the commander to think that he was getting too chummy with club employees.

If it weren’t for Fox Reese wouldn’t even be here. He never came to 79's on his off time if he could help it, but Fox being the one to organize this “bonding activity” rendered it essentially mandatory.

Fox seemed to sense Reese’s unease, and he held a pardoning hand up in his direction. “I can imagine you’d rather not come back here on your downtime, Reese. But it was either here or the barracks.”

A collective groan rose up around the table, and Reese had to give it to the commander. They didn’t have a lot of options when it came to recreational activities.

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what’s the purpose of this little get-together?” Hackett asked.

“What, a commander can’t ask for some time out with his friends without raising questions?” Fox asked.

Nexus leveled a flat look at the commander, thoroughly unconvinced. “We know you’ve been meeting with squads one by one, sir. You’re too busy a man for that kind of campaign to be purely social.”

Fox let out a long-suffering sigh and leaned back. “It _is_ social. It’s important that we bond, as brothers-in-arms. In the capital we work among civilians, we don’t feel the sting of battle on the front lines, we’re less often called on to put our lives in our brothers’ hands. It can sometimes be harder to feel like soldiers, harder to see our higher purpose.”

Reese bit back a doubtful smirk at the Commander’s words. He certainly agreed that the Coruscant Guard could use a greater sense of camaraderie and purpose, he just didn’t think that atmosphere was likely to be encouraged by going out to a bar with their uptight commander.

“Great idea, Commander!” Hackett said, and Hound rolled his eyes.

“Nobody likes a kiss-ass, Hackett,” Fox said coolly, and Hackett flushed.

“What’ll you boys be having?” the waitress asked, walking up to the table with her order pad.

Reese looked up and smiled when he recognized Kiraz’s grey, braided hair and sharp, pale features. He caught her eye and she returned the smile with an efficient nod of her head.

“A round of Alderaan beers, please,” Reese said.

“Perfect.” Kiraz jotted down the order on her datapad, then looked back up at Reese. “Good to see you again, Reese.”

Reese couldn’t help the way his smile grew that she remembered his name. “You too. How’s Emil?”

“He’s good. And at home, I promise!” Kiraz said with a laugh.

“Well, tell him not to make any more trouble for his mom.”

Kiraz’s face clouded in confusion, then cleared as she understood his meaning. “Oh… Emil is my nephew. I’m single.”

Reese’s mind blanked at this unexpected information and her apparent eagerness to share it. “Oh, alright then,” he said, smile still in place.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

She turned and left the booth, and Reese’s smile fell when he felt the weight of every eye around the table on him. He swallowed thickly and settled back into his seat, taking a sudden interest in his gloved hands.

“She’s pretty,” Nexus said with a knowing smirk.

“ _Way_ too pretty for Reese,” Halflife said. “What did you do, let her off with a warning or something?”

“No, I didn’t- She’s not-” Reese sputtered, hyper-aware of Commander Fox’s steely gaze on him. “She’s just grateful I got Flex off her back.”

“Ahh,” Nexus said, as if that explained everything. Which annoyed Reese a little. There was nothing going on between him and Kiraz, but it wasn’t because there was something wrong with him.

“Yeah, I can confirm. I was there when Reese brought Flex in to the RCMO,” Hackett said.

“Well if you’re in her good graces you should press the advantage, brother,” Hound said, reaching around Halflife’s back to clap Reese on the shoulder.

“The only women I see every day are behind a ray shield. Some brothers get all the luck,” Halflife said.

“It’s not luck-”

“If you’re trying to suggest that _skill_ is the reason she’s interested-”

“Enough,” Fox said, and all banter immediately ceased. His voice wasn’t fiery or loud, but Fox had a practiced authority about him that was impossible to ignore.

Reese cleared his throat. “Sir…”

Fox raised a hand to forestall Reese’s explanations. “Relationships with civilians are not technically forbidden. But I don’t think I need to explain to you why a soldier serving on the front lines blowing off some steam on leave is different from one of us starting a whole relationship with a local girl.”

“I understand, sir,” Reese said. “And we’re just friendly… in a professional sense.”

“I’m sure. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Reese. I’m not worried about you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Enough with the sirs!” Commander Fox said. “Tonight is a night for celebration and brotherhood. Reese here has single-handedly improved the reputation of clones everywhere by leaps and bounds by managing clone recreational behavior. The prison under Halflife’s direction is more secure than ever. Nexus shut down a major power siphoning operation last week, and Hackett personally stopped the assassination of Senator Jakker-Sun.”

Reese nodded his gratitude, though his accomplishments did sound rather petty when set alongside his batchmates’ work. He wasn’t about to ruin the mood.

“Oya!” Hound said, raising his fist in lieu of the drinks that had yet to arrive.

“What exactly happened with Senator Jakker-Sun, anyway?” Halflife asked. “Did you really stop the blaster bolt with your own bare hands?”

Hackett laughed. “What? Who told you that?”

“Then tell us the story!” Hound said.

Hackett launched into a detailed and humorous description of his heroics, and Reese listened on in amusement. Hackett had told him the story before, but it was fun to hear it again, and even more satisfying to see their batchmates’ reactions. Maybe Commander Fox was onto something. As individuals it wasn’t always easy to see what they were accomplishing, but they always had an easier time seeing the value in each others’ work.

Kiraz walked up to the table with an expertly-balanced tray full of beers just as Hackett's story was winding down.

“I’ve got your drinks here!” she said, setting the tray down and passing out the drinks.

When it was Reese’s turn she leaned over the long table to get the bottle to him. Her position gave him an excellent view right down her front, and he swallowed thickly before averting his eyes. In a knee-length fitted dress with a high collar and no sleeves, Kiraz’s outfit was conservative compared to her fellow servers. The most daring part of her getup was definitely the slit down the front that went all the way from her high collar to midway down her chest, and even though he’d seen much skimpier clothing, they hadn’t distracted him like this.

“Thanks,” he muttered awkwardly, and he looked up just in time to see Kiraz give him a confused look.

“Well… I’ll see you later then,” she said, turning away from the table.

Reese returned to his drink and took a long pull, avoiding the knowing glances of his brothers and trying to put Kiraz’s forbidden figure out of his mind. He’d thought she was pretty before, but in more of a clinical sense, like a foreign language. Now that he’d actually talked to her, now that she recognized him and would bother to greet him when they ran into each other, the foreign element had disappeared. In the GAR, familiarity with civilians was dangerous.

“That was painful,” Hound said, never one to read the room.

Reese just cleared his throat and took another drink from his bottle. He didn’t think saying any more would help him.

“Why don’t we get back to what the commander was saying earlier?” Hackett said, and Reese could have kissed him.

Commander Fox nodded in Reese’s direction. “Thanks Hackett. We in command want to make sure morale is high and do what we can to keep the boys going. I know serving on Coruscant is hard. There are more rules for us to follow here, and it doesn’t always feel natural to be serving among so many civilians. It’s not in our blood. But we have an important duty here, not just to the civilians, but to our brothers on the front line. Public opinion matters in the war, and we’re the most visible face of the GAR. We need to preserve the reputation of the GAR for our brothers’ sakes.”

The men all slowly nodded. Commander Fox’s speech wasn’t exactly bringing up the mood, but it was still inspiring, in its own way. It was too easy for Reese to get lost in the minutiae of his beat and forget why it mattered to the whole. If the people on Coruscant could see the clones for the disciplined, dedicated soldiers they were, they’d be more supportive of the war and the clones of the front lines would have a better chance at making it through alive. It helped to keep that in mind when he was cleaning up throwup for the fourth time in a week.

“Commander, I heard a rumor that the Senate was going to stop funding for the phase III armor,” Hackett said. “Is that what you’re talking about?”

Reese leaned forward eagerly. They’d all been hearing rumors about phase III armor for what seemed like forever. As much an improvement phase II armor was over phase I, there were still a lot of kinks and discomforts they were all eager to see done away with. Unfortunately, the upgrade seemed to be perpetually on the horizon.

Commander Fox sighed. “That’s one thing, yes. Phase III is underfunded right now, and the Senate is currently voting on a bill that would likely give us enough budget to finish development.”

“We’ve gotta get that armor, boss,” Hound said. “I don’t think I can handle the way the comlink shorts out at long range for much longer.”

“Try to keep that in mind if a regulation seems unfair or not worth keeping,” Commander Fox continued. He turned his gaze to Reese, and Reese blushed. Would this night out ever end?

* * *

The alarm on Kiraz’s comm let out a subtle ding, and she sighed in relief. The shift from hell was finally over. She’d thought it might not be too bad, especially when she saw Reese come in. Reese didn’t usually come to 79's except on official business, so she was intrigued to see what he might be like off-duty. Then she’d had to go and make it awkward by, completely unprovoked, telling him she was available. She’d hoped that, socially adept as he seemed to be, he’d take her embarrassing gaffe in stride and continue as normal, but that hadn’t been the case.

As soon as he’d made it clear he wasn’t comfortable talking to her any more, she’d switched tables with another server for the rest of the night, not wanting a repeat performance of whatever-that-was.

Swapping tables turned out to be a mistake, though, because her new table was a group of surly bounty hunters who wanted lots of alcohol and were very particular about how their drinks were mixed and served. She couldn’t imagine why bounty hunters would come to a bar full of soldiers, but the clones didn’t seem to mind the bounty hunters, and the bounty hunters seemed to enjoy feeling like such badasses that they could go wherever they wanted with impunity. Their masculine bravado only got worse as the night wore on and they got more drinks in them.

And so it was with great relief that Kiraz headed for the back room to end her shift, passing by Reese’s forgotten table as she left. His back was to her, so he didn’t notice her, but her mouth flattened in dissatisfaction as she passed. She’d been so happy to see his friendly face—so similar to his brothers and yet so open and warm—but then he’d completely closed up to her. She chastised herself as she continued on to the back room, telling herself she shouldn’t have let herself look forward to seeing him again so much. She’d built him up in her head, but really they’d barely interacted. It was just so hard when she knew barely a soul on this planet, and he had such kind eyes and a strong jaw and broad shoulders… Well. best not to continue that line of thinking.

“Mrrta,” Kiraz said as she found her fellow waitress in the back rooms, “you’re up on tables twelve through eighteen, plus five.”

“Why five?” Mrrta asked, rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes.

“Swapped a table with Quilana,” Kiraz said with a shrug, trying not to notice the heavy bags under Mrrta’s eyes and the unhealthy pallor of her skin. Mrrta’s face had grown more and more gaunt over these past few weeks, and though Kiraz was used to angular features on Umbara, she knew the way the outline of Mrrta’s bones was visible through her skin was not healthy for a human like her.

“Alright, I got it,” Mrrta said, taking Kiraz’s datapad and heading out to battle. Her look of determination was belied somewhat by the slight sway to her walk.

Kiraz watched her coworker go, her concern growing with each unsteady step. Mrrta hadn’t shown up to work high yet, but Kiraz wouldn’t be surprised at this point. A part of her wanted to say something, but her instincts for self-preservation told her to mind her own business. She didn’t have any proof that Mrrta had a spice addiction, anyway.

Kiraz’s shoulders relaxed and she closed her eyes for a moment, giving herself a beat to regroup before heading home. She opened her locker along the wall and pulled out her walking shoes, quickly swapping them with the shimmering, strappy ones Biss “encouraged” the wait staff to wear. She reached inside the locker for her coat, but it was missing. Huffing in frustration, Kiraz headed for the storage room, remembering she’d put it on to go to the cool storage room earlier in her shift.

Holding her bag in both hands, Kiraz backed into the storage room, only hearing movement inside after the door was already open.

“You’re not supposed to be in here during restocking!” Biss’s harsh voice sounded across the room, and Kiraz whirled around.

Biss was inside the storage room, stacking a large number of crates in the corner with several other men and an Ithorian. They all had a decidedly tough look about them.

“Oh, I was just looking for my jacket-” she said.

“Get it tomorrow. Out.”

The men holding the boxes stared at her in a way that wasn’t entirely nonthreatening, and she quickly walked back through the door, letting it fall shut behind her. She hadn’t heard about a “no employees in the storage room during restocking” rule, but then again she rarely had reason to go to the storage room in the first place. She’d only gone earlier in her shift because the bartender had asked her to get a new jug of spotchka.

Kiraz leaned against the closed storage room door for a long moment, her heart racing though she didn’t quite understand why. Biss was never really in a good mood, but his reaction seemed so out of proportion. She felt like she’d done something terribly wrong, but what could be so wrong with walking into the storage room?

Those boxes had been labeled Lothal spicebrew, and the amount in those crates had to be at least a two year supply given the drink’s relative unpopularity. Kiraz'd be willing put real hard credits on those crates not actually containing spicebrew.

_Don’t worry about what’s not your business, her mother’s voice admonished her in her head. Keep your head low and we’ll all be fine._

Kiraz shook her head and made her way to the employee’s exit out the back. Her mother was right—what would she even do if she figured this mystery out? It would only get her in trouble. She put Biss and his mysterious crates out of her mind.

It was a cold, foggy Coruscant night, and Kiraz shivered the whole way home. She inserted her key fob into the door lock and stumbled inside her humble apartment, catching herself and trying to soften her footfalls so as not to wake Emil.

Emil slept peacefully in a crib pushed up against the wall of the tiny living room. Kiraz’s mother Elif slept on the couch next to the crib, curled up with a lumpy pillow and scratchy blanket. Elif’s dark hair and rounded features had been so distinctive on Umbara, but here they were the norm. Kiraz made a special effort to shut the front door carefully behind her, but her mother stirred at the noise anyway.

“Kiraz? Sweetie?” Elif said.

“I’m home,” Kiraz whispered, setting her bag carefully on the ground.

Elif screwed her eyes shut and yawned, stretching her achy back out as she did so. She got to her feet and tiptoed over to the kitchenette in the corner where they’d be less likely to wake the baby. The brief time between when Kiraz got home and went to sleep was essentially the only chance she had to see her mother, who worked during the day, so Elif always made a point to wake when she got home and talk for a few minutes.

“How’s Emil been?” Kiraz asked her mother once she’d joined her in the far corner of the room.

Elif smiled dreamily. “He remains my perfect grandson, as always.”

“No more hair pulling?”

“Oh, he definitely still pulls hair. It just doesn’t make him any less perfect.”

Kiraz laughed softly, then reached for her mother’s hand. “Any news from Trung?”

Elif shook her head sadly. “Nothing direct. And all the news from Umbara is bad.”

Kiraz squeezed her mother’s hand and leaned her head on her shoulder. “He’ll be alright. He’s always been the smart one.”

“Not smart enough, apparently,” Elif said, then she sighed. “That brother of yours. Sometimes I’m so proud of him I could burst. And sometimes I’m so angry I don’t even know what I’ll say when I see him again.”

“He’s doing what he thinks is right,” Kiraz said. “I’m proud.”

“I know,” Elif said, casting her dark eyes over towards the crib. “But I don’t want Emil to grow up without a father.”

“He won’t,” Kiraz said insistently, with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “The war will end and we’ll see Trung again and Emil will have his father back.”

“I hope so. I can only afford this level of worry for one child. Please, please stay out of trouble here. We just have to hunker down and get by until the war is over, and we can figure things out after that.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. When would I even have time to do anything risky, anyway?”

“That’s certainly true.”

Elif yawned again, and her sleepiness reminded Kiraz of her own exhaustion.

“I need to get to bed,” Kiraz said, rubbing at her eyes.

“Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”

Kiraz hugged her mother to her chest, then grabbed her toiletries and headed to the shared refresher in their tenement. She washed up as quickly as she could, then crept back into her apartment and over to the mattress in the corner opposite the kitchenette—a mattress the three adults shared, though never at the same time. She curled up on the dingy mattress, still warm from when her father had slept on it only a few hours earlier, and opened up the datapad she’d managed to bring with her from Umbara, enjoying the few moments of leisure she allowed herself a day. She scrolled through several news updates, most of them about various senate hearings and skirmishes in the Outer Rim, then navigated to a more obscure portion of the HoloNet, a channel dedicated to anti war stories and independent journalism.

The latest reporting covered the ongoing conflict on Onderon against the Separatist-backed government. Supposedly independent insurgents on the planet were mounting stiff resistance against the king of Onderon, but the anonymous author of the article Kiraz read wrote that his reporting had uncovered Republic backing for those rebels. Kiraz was no fan of the Separatists, but it seemed underhanded of the Republic to resort to such tactics, if the accusations were true. Wasn’t the Republic founded on the principle of self-determination? If Onderon no longer wished to be a part of the Republic, that was their prerogative.

Kiraz sighed and shut off her datapad, hiding it under her pillow and closing her eyes. That was Trung talking. She couldn’t afford to think like him. Their family could only afford one outspoken activist, and even then only barely.

She settled in and mentally prepared herself for the monotony of the day to come. Eat, sleep, and work—Kiraz was only living to survive. She tried to convince herself that it was all in service of some not-too-distant future, that if she endured now their family could be whole again like her mother said. Most days that was enough.

* * *

“He _stole money_ from me, _and_ got me pregnant, _and_ spread lies about me to my friends!” the woman screamed into Reese’s face, her enthusiasm leaving spittle on his chin.

“Maybe we should discuss this outside? Or at my office back at the RCMO?” he said, conscious of all the eyes on the woman and the poor sap she was berating just inside the front entrance to 79's.

“No way. We do this right here, right now. I’m not leaving until he pays me what he owes me,” the woman said, pointing a finger accusingly at the clone whose black uniform and rank tiles marked him as a member of the engineering corps.

“What’s your designation?” Reese asked the clone.

“CE-45664,” looking miserable but making no move to either deny the woman’s claims or flee the scene.

“And name?”

“...Tork.”

“And ma’am, what’s your name?”

“Lonnie.”

“Ok Lonnie, I’m going to need you to be truthful about your claims, because I know at least one of your accusations is a lie,” Reese said. It wasn’t as diplomatic as he should probably say it, but Reese was feeling impatient. He had better things to do with his time, and there were women who’d truly been wronged who wouldn’t be served by this kind of behavior.

“What?” she gasped, outraged.

“You’re not pregnant with Tork’s baby.”

“How dare you say that?” she said, her hand dropping to rub her rounded belly. “I’ve seen doctors. I’ve taken a test.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that you’re pregnant. But clones are sterile, so he’s definitely not the father. Now what evidence do you have for your other accusations?”

Lonnie looked taken aback, her hand still flat on her belly, but she rebounded quickly. “He took my credit chit and incurred several hundred credit’s worth of charges. I have records of it.”

“I told you, Lonnie, I don’t know who took your chit but it wasn’t me!” Tork finally protested.

“I’m gonna have to agree with Tork on this one,” Reese said. “Clones aren’t allowed to have any kind of bank account, much less a credit chit, so pretty much no vendor would agree to take a credit chit from a clone. Do we really have to go through the hassle of disproving your last accusation? Or will you leave now and spare yourself the embarrassment?”

“I-! How _dare_ you-! I never-!”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“I… I… Your commanding officer will be hearing from me officer… whoever you are!”

“CT-8659,” Reese said, handing her a piece of flimsi with his info on it. “And feel free to contact Commander Fox.”

“Ok then, well… I’ll be sure to let him know how I’ve been treated today!” she huffed, gathering her coat about her and stalking to the exit.

Reese watched her leave, then waited for a beat before turning to the bedraggled engineer. “So… want to tell me what really happened?”

“Thank you so much, CT-8659.”

“It’s Reese, and you’re welcome. It was pretty easy to see her accusations were baseless. How did you get involved with someone like her in the first place?”

Tork sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair, looking harried and exhausted. “She seemed nice. And I just… wanted to know what it was like. To be with someone. Then almost as soon as we got together it was like she was a whole different person. To be honest, I don’t really understand how it happened.”

“I’m afraid I can’t provide much clarity on that front. If she’s a grifter, a clone is a strange target.”

It would be inappropriate to conjecture further, but Reese had his own private theory. Lonnie didn’t strike him as a woman who had much power over her life, and sometimes the downtrodden found perverse satisfaction in hitting whoever had even less power than they. And there weren’t many sentient beings in the galaxy lower on the totem pole than a clone.

“Regardless, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up. She’s really the first person I’ve spent any time with outside of the GAR, and I didn’t really know what to do,” Tork said.

“Unfortunately this isn’t quite over yet. I seriously doubt that she’ll actually go to Commander Fox, but I still need to write a report and make sure to cover our bases. And if you have been involved in any wrongdoing, best tell me now so it doesn’t come out later.”

“I haven’t. At least, not that I know of.”

Reese held out his datapad to scan Tork’s wrist, and glanced at his file after the id chip processed. “You’re with the 57th, right? Come by my office at the RCMO tomorrow for an interview. And don’t try to skip out on it or anything. I’ll know where to find you.”

“Of course, of course,’ Tork said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I… should get back to my squad,” he said, backing towards the door.

Reese nodded his agreement. “Yep. See you tomorrow.”

Tork left the club, and Reese took a moment to write some notes about the encounter down. He didn’t feel great, practically yelling at the civilian like that, but if there was anything he couldn’t stand it was someone trying to take advantage of one of his brothers. Most of the time there wasn’t much he could do to protect his fellow clones, so whenever he had an opportunity like this he liked to seize it with both hands.

“What was _that_ all about?” a female voice asked, and Reese looked up from his datapad to find Kiraz looking curiously out the door at Tork’s retreating form.

“Just a… domestic disturbance,” he said, trying to look at her without _looking_ at her. It had been a few weeks since their last runin, and he’d known that running into her again was inevitable, but he still hadn’t quite worked out how he was going to behave.

Reese felt bad for how he’d come across last time. Sure, it had been a little strange of her to point out that she was single, but she hadn’t necessarily meant anything by it, and regardless it was no excuse to be rude. He wanted to do better this time

“Oh… Yeah, I’ve seen Lonnie in here before. She seems to have a thing for clones, but it never goes well,” Kiraz said.

“Hmm…” Reese said, satisfied to have his suspicions partially confirmed. “Yes, I was getting that impression.”

The corner of Kiraz’s mouth quirked up, then she seemed to remember their last encounter and she cleared her throat. “Well, I’d better get back to work.”

“-Wait!”

Kiraz paused, turning back to him.

“Um… I just wanted to apologize… I was rude to you last time I was here.”

Kiraz ran her hand down her braid, adjusting it to fall in front of her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I must have embarrassed you in front of your friends.”

“It’s not like that,” Reese said, eyes widening at the thought that he would be embarrassed by her. He _had_ been embarrassed, but not by her. “I don’t know very many civilians. I don’t always know how to act.” It wasn’t exactly the truth but it was close enough.

“Oh, well… That’s a relief,” she said, the corners of her mouth threatening a full-blown smile.

Alarm bells went off in Reese’s head and all he could hear was Commander’s Fox’s voice ringing in his ears. _Don’t get too familiar._

“Yeah, well… it’s important to have a good rapport with civilians who might give statements or serve as witnesses in my cases,” he said.

The smile vacated Kiraz’s face. “Of course. I’ll let you know if I see anything suspicious, officer.”

Reese almost corrected Kiraz on calling him an officer, then he remembered they’d had that discussion before and she’d either forgotten or chosen to call him that anyway.

“Well, um… Alright then. I”ll see you around,” Reese said.

“Goodbye,” Kiraz said, walking away without a second glance.

Reese left the club, walking to his speeder through a persistent, medium-weight rain. He thought of the elusive phase III armor, thought about Tork and how little he could have done if his accuser had gone to someone else with her accusations, thought about the squads he saw at 79's return a few weeks later with half as many men. Rain soaked through his blacks and weighed him down, but his insides felt empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed recently an original clone character in the Coruscant Guard named Reese in a different fic. I'm honestly not sure which character was created first, but this Reese is not based off of that one, just as I'm sure their Reese isn't based off of mine. They're two independent characters that happen to have the same name.


	4. Plata o Plomo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I know this story doesn't have much of a following but I just love it. Hope you enjoy!

Life moved on in the endless, life-or-death monotony of wartime. Each day Kiraz helped scrape together enough money to pay the rent for her one room apartment, then came home only to take care of Emil, steal a few hours of sleep, then head off to work again to scrape together more credits.

She still saw Reese every once in a while, but there hadn’t been many disturbances involving clones at the club recently, and even when she did see him there was no reason to talk.

It was still nice to see him, even if from afar. Kiraz didn’t know many people on Coruscant, and despite his cold shoulder, she still felt like they’d shared a brief moment of connection that night he’d taken care of Emil. Seeing him in a crowd or across the room, it was like seeing a good friend’s holo, or hearing news about them from someone else. It made her day a little less lonely.

It was subtle, but the mood on Coruscant—and especially at the bar—was steadily worsening. Troopers who came to the club to blow off steam seemed increasingly desperate to forget, more squads showed up for drinks with reduced numbers, and news coverage of various senate debates over budgets and war strategy grew more and more bleak. The dour atmosphere even infected the staff at 79's—Biss was more irritable than normal, and his mood spread to the wait staff like the plague.

One night after an especially torturous shift, Kiraz went to the back rooms to get changed for her commute home when she heard voices coming from the storage room. They weren’t loud enough for her to make out at first, so she crept closer to the door, the truth-telling instincts her brother had instilled in her years ago overriding her caution.

“But… I was thinking maybe you could get me a wholesale price or something…”

That was Mrrta’s voice. She sounded small and pathetic—not anything like the fiery personality Kiraz had met several months ago.

“You’re a kriffing addict, Mrrta. You’re lucky I haven’t fired you yet, you think I would help you score on the cheap?” Biss’s slippery voice sounded from behind the door.

“But I know you’ve been getting shipments. Just do me this favor, and I can do a better job on the floor-“

“Get out of here. I shouldn’t have to help you do your job. Either do it, or leave. And I don’t want to hear you talking about this again—to anyone. You don’t know poodoo about the shipments, alright? If you keep talking about it I’m going to have to find a way to keep you quiet.”

Kiraz clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping. Biss was trafficking in spice. Here! Right under the nose of the GAR.

A memory of her first day on the job returned to her, the words Biss had said reverberating around in her head. _You’d be surprised by how good a place a clone bar is to conduct illegal activities._ He’d said that! To her!

Kiraz jolted away from the storage room door, drawing the eyes of one of the cooks.

“You alright there Kiraz?” He said.

“I’m… fine. Just ready to go home.”

She grabbed her bag and scurried out the back, forcing herself not to look behind her as she walked. As she made her way through the musty alleyway, her mind whirred with new information.

Biss was dealing spice. Mrrta was addicted. Those crates she’d seen arrive the other day were full of spice. And now she knew.

In some ways it made sense. Kiraz had never seen police at 79's, even when it was civilians getting into scrapes. And Biss’s inventory and deliveries were difficult to track because he was paid a flat fee for the variable amount of alcohol drunk by the clones.

In other ways, it was banthashit crazy. He was trafficking in illegal substances in a bar full to the brim with soldiers sworn to serve the Republic. If she weren’t so disgusted she’d have to admire the entrepreneurial Rodian’s guts.

The only question that remained was what exactly Kiraz was going to do with this information.

Kiraz stopped at the intersection in front of the repulsorcraft train that would take her home. She should keep her nose out of this, for her sake and for her family’s sake. She had nothing to gain from outing her boss, and everything to lose.

Then she thought of Mrrta’s gaunt face and haunted gaze. She thought of her uncle’s family, left torn apart and creditless by her cousin’s addiction. She thought of Trung’s ridiculous sense of justice—how it drove her crazy but was also what she admired most about her brother. She thought of all the thousands of injustices she and others like her suffered every day but could do nothing about. For once, there was something she could do.

Kiraz turned in her heel, heading towards the police station on the other side of the road from the train.

The police station was stern and intimidating, a vertically-built structure of plain durasteel without windows or charm. This was exactly the kind of place a refugee like Kiraz avoided at all costs, yet she walked through its double doors without a hitch in her step.

She walked up to the counter and looked at the female Zabrak secretary waiting there with a bored expression in her face.

“Hello there. I have a crime I’d like to report?” Kiraz said, not afraid but unclear on the process.

The Zabrak raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh you do, do you?”

“Yes,” Kiraz said, more certain this time. “My boss is trading spice.”

“Alright, I’ll get the officer on duty,” the secretary said, getting to her feet and gesturing for Kiraz to follow her.

She led Kiraz to an interview room, took some of her basic information, and told her to wait. Kiraz sat in one of two chairs in the empty, grey room, toe tapping anxiously while she counted each second of sleep she missed by choosing to report Biss.

After a quarter hour the detective finally entered the room and sat down across from her. His human form loomed over her across the small table, though his round, bearded face was warm and open.

“Kiraz Tomera?” he said.

She nodded silently, making a conscious effort to cease her toe tapping.

“I’m Detective Larsen Wheeler,” he said, tapping some notes into his datapad. “So, your boss is trading spice?”

“Yes. I overheard him talking about it, and I saw a bunch of shipments arrive that were definitely not what the labels said they were.”

“Hmm… We’d need more evidence than that to make an arrest, but that could be a start. Where is it you work?”

“79's,” Kiraz said, feeling a strange sense of weightlessness now that the secrets were spilled. “The clone bar.”

One of Detective Wheeler’s brow quirked upwards, and Kiraz noticed a pale scar bisecting his thick eyebrow. “Yeah, I know the place. Somehow I’m not surprised.”

Tension that had built up in Kiraz’s shoulders immediately eased. He believed her. At least, he was giving her the benefit of the doubt. A significant part of her had believed he’d somehow turn this around on her even though she hadn’t done anything wrong.

Kiraz spent the next hour answering questions while Detective Wheeler took careful notes. There was something immensely satisfying about someone listening and paying attention to what she had to say, although her anxiety over the potential fallout at the club was still ever-present.

“Well, I think that’s all the questions I have for now. We can’t bring him in on an overheard conversation and suspicious boxes, but we can launch an investigation and confirm the things you’ve said. I’ll reach out if we need you for anything,” he said.

“Is there something I should do for my safety? I mean, I work at that club still,” Kiraz asked.

“Just keep your head down. He shouldn’t have any idea you’ve talked to us unless someone followed you to the police station. Keep your eyes peeled and let me know if you sense any suspicion,” he said, handing her a piece of flimsi with his contact info.

“Thank you, officer.”

Kiraz left the police station and dragged her tired feet home, falling into bed a good two hours after she normally slept. She would be exhausted the next day, but she told herself it was worth it.

* * *

Fleeing Umbara, getting legal status on Coruscant, and working long hours every day had trained Kiraz in the art of compartmentalization. This skill served her well as she started on her shift the next day at 79’s, carefully putting her interview with the detective out of her mind as she walked past Biss in the back room and headed out onto the floor of the club.

The club was packed, which helped Kiraz keep her thoughts away from the fact that she’d reported her boss for spice dealing to the police. The entire 187th had returned for leave that day, so the club was packed with brown-painted armor and men wearing identical somber expressions. The 187th was a disciplined unit and their recent losses kept their mood subdued, so while the club was crowded, it wasn’t rowdy.

Kiraz fell into a streamlined rhythm of taking orders and serving drinks. To the tables, to the bar, back to the tables—back and forth and back and forth. There was some comfort to the tedium, and at the very least it distracted her from wondering what Detective Wheeler planned to do with the information she’d shared. Her shift passed quickly.

She only had an hour left before clock out when the exhaustion hit. Kiraz was running on _just enough_ sleep even on her good days, and she was really starting to feel the two hour deficit she’d racked up the night before. She was carrying a whole round of drinks to a table near the entrance of the club when she bumped into someone, spilling the drinks all over her dress and the floor.

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

“I’m so sorry!”

A black-gloved hand reached down to help Kiraz up off the floor and she took it, only to look up into the familiar face of Reese. His face was, of course, identical to almost every other face in the club, but she instantly identified him by the tattoo running along his jaw. It was funny how she hadn’t really noticed it before, but now her eyes immediately picked out his distinguishing features.

“Kiraz!” Reese said as recognition dawned. “Are you alright? You’re soaked!”

He pulled her to her feet and she looked down at her dress, a knee-length sheath with a high collar and long embroidered lines that ran from the collar down the front in a traditional Umbaran design. It was usually a dusky blue color, but it was dark with spilled beer. It was one of her favorite dresses—one of the only ones that made her feel like more than a worn-out refugee—but it was just beer. It would wash out.

“That’s alright, I have a spare in the back,” she said. “What brings you here? I hadn’t noticed any brawls.”

Kiraz had already decided to keep her distance from Reese, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be friendly.

“Yeah, no fights or anything. Just a trooper who went AWOL.”

“Does that happen often?”

Reese shook his head. “No, we were all bred to be pretty obedient.”

Kiraz forced away the grimace that instinctively wanted to make itself known at his words. It was unnerving to see a room full of identical faces, but Kiraz had served the clones long enough to know that they were still individual people. Individuals with identical DNA and frighteningly similar backgrounds, yes, but individuals nonetheless. Something deep within her was repulsed at the term “breeding” being applied to sentient beings. She wanted to ask him more—though she’d served clones for a while now, there was still a lot she didn’t know about them—but she was starting to shiver in her sopping, smelly dress. That line of questioning also didn’t really align with her decision to keep her distance.

“Well, good luck finding him,” she said, self-consciously tugging her dress down around her knees. “I should get changed.”

He nodded to her, and she could practically see the mask of professionalism descend. He turned from her and walked further into the club, his figure disappearing amidst a crush of bodies all exactly the same height.

Kiraz headed to the back room, grabbing Quilana’s arm as she passed her by and asking her to get another round for the table whose drinks she’d spilled. She passed through the employees only door and went straight for her locker, pulling out her backup dress and making for the refresher. The common refresher was occupied, so Kiraz headed for the refresher by Biss’s office that only he was supposed to use. She was running late with her orders and needed to hurry. Within a few short minutes she was dry and reasonably odorless in her new dress, and she opened the refresher door to get back to the club.

“Are you certain?” Biss’s hissing voice sounded from his office.

“She told me herself.”

Kiraz froze at the sound of the second voice. She recognized that voice—she’d heard it for the very first time just yesterday.

Turning her head towards Biss’s office, Kiraz could just make out the silhouettes of the two people inside. The slimmer, shorter silhouette was Biss, and the taller, broader silhouette looked to be of a human man with a robust beard.

It was possible Detective Wheeler was here just to follow up with her report. It was strange that he would do that so quickly, and that his first act of investigation would be to talk to Biss face-to-face. But it was possible.

_She told me herself._

It was possible.

Kiraz’s self-preservation instincts kicked in, and she bolted for the door to the club floor. The sound of Biss’s office door opening reached her ears just as she reached the employee entrance, and she looked back.

She locked eyes with Detective Wheeler. There was no mistaking him. And there was no mistaking the gleam of recognition in his eyes when he saw her. She froze for half a second, then smiled briefly at him, executing a covert nod. He had to feel that she trusted him, that she believed he was here to follow up on her tip and not rat her out. Hell, if she was lucky maybe it would even be true.

* * *

Reese was tired. Because his work took him to the night club so often, he usually slept morning to late afternoon, so his bedtime was fast approaching. The missing trooper he was after wasn’t at the club—an hour or two of thorough searching had made that clear. He decided to make one last sweep of the dance floor, then pass the case on to Watt and head back to the barracks for some shut-eye.

He watched the crowd as he scanned for the trooper, taking special notice of the civilians interspersed throughout the sea of clones. Reese considered it his duty to learn about civilians since his job required regular interaction with them, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t enjoy his studies. A woman in the corner danced with abandon, her dance moves intricate and practiced. Reese wondered what culture they came from, since it looked very different from how most Coruscantis danced. A man over by the bar sat by himself, downing drink after drink. He’d probably come here to avoid the scrutiny he might face in bars not frequented almost entirely by soldiers.

The dance club remained void of the missing trooper, so Reese maneuvered out of the crush of bodies to make his way to the front door. He finally squeezed out of the crowd, only to bump right into another person coming the opposite direction. He grabbed hold of the person’s arms, steadying them so they wouldn’t fall.

“Reese!” Kiraz gasped, and Reese couldn’t help but release a rueful laugh as he realized who he’d bumped into.

“Second time in one night!” he said, “I’m sorry this keeps-”

Reese cut himself off as he noticed a panicked, frenetic gleam to Kiraz’s eye. For a moment she looked terrified, then her mood shifted and she stared hard at Reese.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

All fear vanished from Kiraz’s expression, and she suddenly grabbed Reese’s arms, bringing them even closer together. She gave him what could only be described as a sultry look, then pulled herself upright, moving right into his personal space and looking up at him through thick lashes.

“Want to dance?”

“Excuse me?” Reese said, caught completely off guard. She wasn’t making any sense, and she was _so close_. He could smell the beer that she hadn’t quite managed to completely wash away, but underneath that was a faint, feminine scent distinctly her own. He could see her irises, the way they weren’t actually a true grey but rather an entrancing combination of dusky lilacs, faded browns, and even hints of yellow. This was the closest he’d ever been to someone who didn’t share his face.

“Come on, officer,” she said, letting a hand slide up his arm and onto his neck. The high collar of his blacks protected most of his skin from her touch, but one finger rested just above the hem, claiming the virgin territory for herself. “Have a little fun.”

He should say no. Aside from the possibility of getting into massive amounts of trouble, the entire situation just didn’t seem right. Kiraz had never shown more than a mild interest in him, and though he couldn’t claim to know her well, this abrupt personality change seemed totally out of character. All of these facts played on a constant loop in the back of Reese’s mind, but they were drowned out by a blaring chorus of repressed longing and breathless anticipation.

He’d been trained not to freeze in the line of fire, but he was rendered helpless by the tip of Kiraz’s index finger.

“I’m… not an officer…” Reese finally said, eyes widening and vision turning fuzzy at the edges as his focus tunneled on Kiraz.

She moved her hand down to his shoulder and pushed him back onto the dance floor, her movements rushed and insistent. He let himself be moved, and she’d backed him deep into the sea of bodies before his mind finally caught up with his body.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing hold of her forearms to halt her. “What’s going on here?”

The gleam in her eyes shifted, and now it looked more frantic than sultry. She swallowed, and Reese narrowed his eyes at her. “Kiraz, tell-”

He choked off his words as her eyes flashed and she pulled him closer and nestled her face into his neck, her hot breath fanning against his sensitive skin.

His heart felt like it was going to stop beating right in his chest. Did it feel this way for everyone? With every person? Or was it just him? Was it just Kiraz?

“Reese,” Kiraz said, her voice barely above a whisper but completely devoid of sensuality. She sounded _scared_. “Reese, I need to get out of here. I think someone’s going to kill me.”

Reese’s arms stayed glued to his sides and his eyes widened. He looked around wildly. “What-?”

Kiraz grabbed his face and turned his gaze back to her before he could even get the question out. “Don’t look around. Don’t let him know I’m onto him. This needs to look like a hookup.”

“Ahh… Uh…”

“ _Shadowed sun_ , at least put your arms around me!” she hissed.

Reese’s hands snapped to her side, at first resting awkwardly on her hips, then snaking around her waist as he’d seen other couples do. He needed to get a grip. She was clearly in trouble, and he needed to be able to help her.

He pulled her close, insistently ignoring the novel contours of her body to whisper in her ear. “Who’s after you? Tell me what you need.”

Kiraz relaxed almost imperceptibly against him, and she feigned a giggle before responding. “I think Biss is dealing spice. I informed on him to Coruscant Security Force, then I saw the detective who interviewed me here just now. In the back with Biss, talking about me. I’m pretty sure he’s dirty.”

Reese’s arms tightened around Kiraz. Drug dealing and intrigue were not his expertise as there was very little of that kind of activity in the GAR, but it didn’t take a genius to understand that she was in a very dangerous situation. “So you can’t go to the police,” he said.

“I don’t know who to trust. But I’m pretty sure I can trust you.”

“You can. First let’s get you out of here, then we’ll figure out what to do. I can call for backup, too.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” she said fervently, turning her face into his neck. He swallowed thickly.

Kiraz broke away from him, leaning back but holding onto his hands. She winked at him, then raised her eyebrows and jerked her head towards the door. Reese did his best impression of a lascivious grin and followed her lead off the dance floor.

They staggered out of the club together, Kiraz leaning heavily into his side while Reese kept an arm slung around her shoulder and a sloppy grin on his face. He itched to put his helmet back on with its advanced peripheral sites so he could get a visual on the man Kiraz said was following them, but he knew there was no way a clone who was about to take a beautiful girl somewhere private would put his bucket back on to do it. Instead he relied on windows, the visors of other brothers’ helmets, a puddle on the ground—anything reflective. A few careful glances and he spotted their stalker—a broad, bearded man who moved with the confidence and authority of law enforcement. Reese pulled Kiraz a little tighter to his side and kept his other hand hanging limply a split second’s draw from his holster.

They hailed a cab, and Reese wasn’t sure how they’d be able to pay the fare, but knew the taxi speeder gave them the best chance to lose the dirty cop. He helped Kiraz in first, then stumbled in after her.

“Where to?” the cab driver asked.

“Uh… Your place?” Reese said.

“No,” Kiraz told the driver, already furiously tapping out a message on her comm. She continued in a quiet voice meant just for Reese, “He has my address. I’m telling my parents to leave now. There’s another Umbaran family I think will probably take them in temporarily.”

“Then where to?” the driver asked, more impatiently this time.

“Where’s the closest hotel?” Kiraz asked Reese.

Reese blinked dumbly at her. “H… hotel?”

The driver rolled his eyes and pulled away from the landing platform. “I’ll take you to the Plaza. That’s where all the dups take their lays.”

Reese grimaced, both at the derogatory term for clone and the description of Kiraz as a “lay.”

“Perfect,” Kiraz said, unfazed by the driver’s vulgar language.

She scooted over in the back seat closer to Reese, and he tried not to tense up at her touch. If the police officer followed them he could also question the driver, after all. Reese stretched his arm out behind Kiraz’s shoulders and leaned into her, keeping his eyes forward on the speeder’s mirrors. Another taxi had followed their last turn. Their driver switched lanes, and the taxi behind them switched lanes, too.

“I think he’s following us,” Reese said quietly after a few more similar maneuvers.

She nodded, making the gesture look like she was simply snuggling closer to him.

Reese tried to ignore what her warm body curled up by his side did to him, but it was difficult. It had taken some significant wrestling with himself since his arrival on Coruscant two years ago, but Reese had resigned himself to the fact that he would likely never know what love felt like. He’d convinced himself he’d never experience either the close, emotional component or the sensual, physical side, and he was OK with that. Now his body felt alight with possibility, each nerve ending communicating to him how good she felt and hinting at more to come.

His rational mind fought back against the sensations and the longing they evoked, reminding him of Commander Fox’s rules and _more importantly_ that she was only playing a part because her life was in danger.

“What should we do,” Kiraz whispered, and Reese forced himself to focus. If the cop was following them their ruse had likely not worked. He’d sniffed out their lie, and was likely desperate to stop them.

The open plaza in front the hotel was Reese’s biggest concern. Reese knew the area well, since it was within his jurisdiction and was another popular haunt for members of the GAR, and all he could envision was him and Kiraz trying to get from the cab to the hotel only to be gunned down by the pursuing dirty cop. Even if they reached the hotel, the detective would know exactly where they were and would be watching for their departure. Their best chance to lose him was now, while they were still in transit.

“I think we need to ditch this cab,” he said into the silver of her braid, trying his best to ignore the silky feel of her hair. “Can you get us to the friends you sent your parents to?”

“...Yeah, I think so.”

“Alright then. We’ll contact my superiors from there. If a dirty cop’s involved it could take time, and we need a place to lay low until everything is sorted out. Got any money to pay the cabbie?”

Kiraz grimaced. “A little. Probably not enough.”

Reese sighed. It was ridiculous considering their predicament, but Reese hated doing anything that would tarnish the clone army’s already dim reputation on Coruscant. He took note of the cabbie’s license number displayed on his dashboard and promised himself he’d request the man be compensated later.

Their best chance to ditch the cab was a turn a few streets up—an S bend where if they timed it right, the cab would have slowed down to make the curve, and the cab behind them with the pursuing detective wouldn’t have rounded the corner in time to see them. Reese grabbed Kiraz by the waist and hauled both of them against the door of the cab, nuzzling against her smooth cheek to sell the movement as a passionate advance. His quick eyes caught the roll of the cabbie’s eyes in the mirror, and he congratulated himself for his convincing performance.

“I’m going to open the door and we have to roll out on three,” he murmured.

Kiraz tensed in his arms. “That’s crazy.”

“There’s a ledge right below the speeder lane around here—we won’t drop far. But yes, it’s definitely dangerous.”

Kiraz’s heart raced against his chest, and she tightened her arms around him. “Are you sure?”

“I think it’s our best shot. I’ll try to cushion your fall. My armor should help.”

“Alright then.”

Kiraz’s fingers dug into the fabric of his blacks between his upper arm guard and his pauldron, and he ran a hand up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. The taxi signalled for the turn onto the S bend.

“Three.”

He moved them so he was practically on top of her. That way when they rolled out, he’d be on the bottom.

“Two.”

The soft puff of Kiraz’s breath against his neck stopped.

“One.”

Reese jerked the speeder door open and rolled them both out into the cool, polluted air. The sounds of the city came alive around them—honking horns, whirring repulsorcraft, insistent advertising, and blaring propaganda. For an extended moment they fell through thin air and Reese felt a strange sense of peace. If he died, he’d die in direct defense of a citizen of the Republic. That was more than most clones could say.

THUD.

He landed on his back, just like he’d planned, and Kiraz’s weight fell immediately afterwards. The air flew out of his lungs and his head bounced against the duracrete ledge with a worrying crack, but he remained conscious. His vision swam and he didn’t understand where he was or what was happening to him, then a hand reached down and pulled, urging him to his feet.

Through a haze of dark spots and starbursts of light, Kiraz’s face materialized. She tugged on his arm again, and he staggered to his feet.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’ll live,” he said through wheezing breaths.

She took him by the hand, and together they limped off the platform and towards the twisted allies of Coruscant. They were alive, at least for now.


End file.
